


I get knocked down (but I get up again)

by everywordnotsaid



Category: Triple Frontier (2019)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-29
Updated: 2019-08-06
Packaged: 2019-12-26 05:14:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18276509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/everywordnotsaid/pseuds/everywordnotsaid
Summary: They're brothers. Some times that's easier then others.





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> I thought there was something kind of loaded between Will and Benny in that scene where Pope's trying to convince them all to take the job, more then just 'yeah I don't think my brother should be getting the shit kicked out of him by hicks'. So basically this is my attempt at filling the blanks in of how Benny got into the circuit and why that was enough to convince Will to sign on to rob a drug lord.

Will gets out a year before Benny does. It makes sense, he joined up before his little brother, and they all gotta pay out their debt. Still, it’s a tough year. He’s got his own shit going on, it’s not like it’s easy when the military spits you right back out into civilian life after all, but he also spends too much time worrying about the kid. It’s stupid, he knows, his brother can take care of himself. But just because Benny’s solid doesn’t mean some other dumbass can’t fuck up. Will’s seen that story play out too many times for comfort. Mostly though he just doesn’t like to think of him out there without him. Or any of the rest of the guys for that matter, Ben’s the last of them left in the service. Even Pope, who they always joked was gonna be it for life, is done. Fucked off to South America to work for some PMC last Will heard. It’s not right, him being out there alone like that, with no one to watch his back, or at least no one Will trusts. He tells himself to have a little faith in his brother; he’s made it this far after all, what’s one more year? It works most of the time. There’s always a part him that’s just waiting for the knock on the door. It’s no way to live, not really, but it’s not like he has a choice. He copes. He’s good at that.

When he first gets home he moves back into the apartment he and his fiancée, Amy, shared. And for the first couple of month’s he really thinks he might be getting the hang of this, that things might actually work. Then he tries to choke some dude out in a Publix and Amy starts to rethink spending the rest of her life with a dude who obviously has some seriously fucked up issues. She holds on for a while, he has to give her that, but eventually she can’t take it anymore.

“It’s like, even when you’re here, you’re not _really_ here.”

She tells him tearfully. It hurts, but not as bad as he thought it would. He’d loved her at some point, he knows, but he thinks somewhere along the line and two separate tours he’d stopped. It’s almost a relief when she hands him the ring back. She offers to move out of the apartment but he tells her not too. It wouldn’t be fair. It’s more her home now then his anyways.

He bounces around motels for a bit after that, until Tom offers up the guest room in his house till Will can get his feet under him. He turns him down at first, because Tom has a wife and a kid and family and none of them need to deal with Will’s shit just cause he can’t get his life together, but Tom keeps pressing till Will eventually gives in. He can tell Molly isn’t happy about it, but she’s always kind and welcoming to him. He appreciates the effort, especially when he hears her and Tom fighting sometimes when they think everyone’s asleep.

He gets a job working at a gym, doing personal training for boxers and MMA fighters. The owner, Alvin, is a vet to, and he gets it. He comes over once when Will’s coaching one of his guys through a spar. Hooks his arms through the ropes next to Will, watches with him in silence for a moment. The kid’s got potential, if he can just work on his technique and pull back a bit on the recklessness. He reminds him a little of Benny.

“You know,” Alvin says after a while, “I could get you in the ring. Make a lot more money fighting then teaching MMA wannabe’s how not to get their front teeth kicked out.”

Will watches as Oscar takes a glancing blow to the cheek and shakes it off.

“Hey, keep those hands up man, what did I tell you?”

He calls, not looking at Alvin. He thinks about the feeling of his arm locked around somebody’s neck, thinks of the smell of piss and cardboard and the weight of Amy on his back, tiny hands pounding against his shoulders. Finally he shakes his head.

“Thanks, but I’m good.”

Alvin nods agreeably, like he was half-expecting the answer. He slaps Will on the shoulder, pushes himself off the ropes.

“Let me know if you change your mind alright? Your talents are wasted here.”

Will watches him walk away, and thinks he might be okay with that.

Three months into his stay at Tom’s and eight months since he got out, he comes home from work early. There was supposed to be a fight but Oscar jacked up his shoulder that morning and had to drop out. He let’s himself in the house quietly, closing the door behind him with a gentle click. As soon as he steps inside he hears voices from the kitchen, Tom and Molly. It sounds like they’re in the middle of an argument, again.

“-it’s been three months Tom, you told me this was temporary.”

“Hey, it is temporary, okay? But he needs me alright, and as long he needs the room he’s got it.”

There’s the sound of something being set down hard when Molly replies, and her voice is thick.

“You have a _daughter_ , Tom, she needs you too. I need you, to be here with us.”

“Babe, I’m here. I’m not going anywhere. I’m just helping out a friend, that’s all.”

“You’re not all the way here, not really. This isn’t just about Will, it’s about the drinking, and the bills, and-and everything. We can’t keep going like this.”

Will thinks of Amy then, and feels something hollow in his stomach. There’s a long heavy pause before Tom starts again

“Molly I-”

Will feels like he’s heard enough, or he doesn’t want to hear more, he’s not sure which. Reaching back he opens the door again, louder this time, letting it slam shut, cutting off whatever Tom was about to say. Molly walks out of the kitchen a second later, face down but Will can still see the red rims around her eyes. She doesn’t look at him, disappearing upstairs. Tom appears after her, clearing his throat awkwardly and shuffling his feet like a 15 year old who’s parents just caught him smoking weed in the garage.

“Hey, wasn’t expecting you back so soon.”

Will shrugs his backpack off, setting it down on the floor.

“Yeah, fight got cancelled.” He lets his eyes flick to the stairs, “everything alright with Molly?”

Tom coughs again. Runs a hand through his greying hair, and shit when did that happen, when did they all get so old?

“She’s fine, just family stuff.”

Tom doesn’t elaborate, and Will doesn’t ask. That night he starts looking for an apartment close to the gym that’s in his price range.

There’s a barbecue that Friday at Tom’s, some end of season thing for Tess’s soccer team. Mostly it’s a lot of people Will doesn’t know and doesn’t really like crowding into the house. He doesn’t like crowds anymore. Tom finds him out on the deck, hands him a beer. He takes a long sip. It’s still cool from the fridge and condensation clings to the lip of the bottle, peeling the paper label from the glass. From inside the house the faint sound of pop music and squealing kids echoes. This is normal, this should be normal, but he feels like he might as well be on an alien planet. For a while they lean on the rail and look out across the spotty green brown grass of the back yard.

“I found a place, couple of blocks from work. Lease starts next month.”

He says, like ripping off a Band-Aid. Tom gives him a confused glance, pushing himself up, before realization settles.

“Did you hear the shit Molly was saying the other day? Listen, it’s all good you don’t have-”

Will cuts him off, shaking his head.

“It’s not about that. It’s time I was moving on, can’t live in your spare room forever. Anyways, you got a family Tom. I’m not here to get in the way of it.”

Tom looks down at his hands.

“You’re not.”

Will nods, squints against the setting sun.

“I know. But still.”

He moves out a week later. It’s three months till Benny comes home.

He settles in okay, keeps working at the gym and training Oscar. He doesn’t make a lot, but it’s enough to get by with his pension. He doesn’t see Will much anymore, hears he got a job as a realtor selling condos. The thought of Tom in khakis and a polo showing people around houses is enough to make him laugh. The days pass by, and Will counts them, just like he counts everything. Somehow, it still takes him by surprise.

Will picks Benny up from the airport in the old junker he bought after he moved out of Tom’s place. He’s all sun tan and faint freckles, wearing that damn ratty ball cap he’s had for years. He grins so wide it looks like his face is going to split when he sees Will, pulling him into a tight hug.

“Good to see ya brother.”

He says next to Will’s ear, slapping him on the back hard enough to sting. Will pulls back, looks his brother over for a second. He looks the same as ever, still the blue-eyed blonde haired golden boy he was when he enlisted. The rest of them are getting grey and old and somehow Ben’s always the same.

“Yeah, good to see you too.”

Benny comes to live with him; it just makes the most sense. Will doesn’t mind the chance to keep an eye on him for the first couple of months home either. And he would never admit it, but it’s kinda nice to have Benny living with him again, nice to have someone else filling up the empty spaces.

The first time Benny goes out and comes home the next morning with a black eye Will gives him a pass. It’s hard to adjust. He nearly killed some dude in a supermarket, he figures if Benny needs to get into a bar fight or two that’s his due. He can take care of himself. The second time it happens he starts to get worried, the third time in as many weeks he brings it up over breakfast.

“Hey, you thought about getting a job?”

Benny shrugs, pouring milk over a bowl of Wheaties. His hair is a mess of bedhead and there’s a vibrant purple bruise starting to form on his right cheekbone.

“I talked to a couple places, but not really feeling anything yet.”

He says, sitting down clumsily across from Will. Will nods slowly.

“It might be good, y’know, get back into a routine. Have some stability.”

Benny snorts through a mouth full of cereal.

“Fuck that, I just got out of the goddamn army. I’m tryna finally live my life. Have a little fun.”

Which apparently means getting the shit kicked out of you on a weekly basis. Will doesn’t say that though, just nods, finishes his toast.

“I gotta work late tonight. Got a fight. Don’t wait up.”

“Yessir,”

Benny calls out with a mock two-fingered salute as Will heads out the door. When he gets home the lights are off. He dumps his stuff on the kitchen table and opens the door to Benny’s room. It’s empty. He takes a deep breath and presses his forehead to the doorframe for a long moment. Then he goes to bed.

The next morning he finds Ben sprawled face down across the living room couch, legs falling off the end and snoring up a storm. He’s still wearing jeans and a t-shirt and only one shoe. The other’s been abandoned somewhere near the door. Will can nearly smell the tequila on him from here.

“Hey, up at and ‘em.”

He says, slapping him lightly on the back of the head as he walks to the kitchen. Benny’s eyes jerk open with a start, instantly awake, and he glances sporadically around the room for a second before he seems to recognize where he is. His muscles relax, and he rolls over, sitting up and rubbing blearily at his eyes.

“What time is it?”

He yawns loudly.

“6:30.”

There’s a groan of disgust from the couch and a second later a cushion flies through the air to smack Will in the back.

“What the hell dude? Why’d you wake me up? It’s like the asscrack of dawn.”

Will hides his smirk by opening the fridge door and pulling out a carton of eggs.

“’Cause you decided to take a nap in the living room. Anyways, we both know the asscrack of dawn and this ain’t it. Now, do you want some breakfast or not?”

There’s a long moment of silence and then a begrudging yes as Ben shuffles into the kitchen, collapsing into a chair at the table. The surviving shoe is pulled off his foot and joins the other in a pile. Will sets a pan on the stove and starts cracking eggs, glancing back at his brother. He gives him a cursory once over and is surprised to see no new bruises apart from the split lip still healing from last week. It’s not much, but it’s a start.

“Hey,” Ben says after they finish breakfast, as Will starts to stack their plates in the sink. “You got the hook up with the local circuit here right? Do you think you could get me in?”

Will pauses, cheap ceramic cool in his fingers.

“What?”

Ben shrugs, avoids his eyes.

“Well, you know. You said a job would be good for me.”

“Yeah, a _job_ , Benny. A real job.”

“It is a real job, Will. Jesus, what’s the big deal man? Just get me into a fight, you know I can handle it.”

Will snorts, finally setting down the plate in the sink and turning to face his brother.

“Get you into a fight? You’ve been getting into fucking fights since you got back all on your own.”

He snips, a little bit of the anger he’s been holding onto finally crawling out. Ben rolls his eyes, lips curling downwards, and he wonders how this morning ended up here. It had started out so good.

“Oh fuck off with your self righteous bullshit Will. I don’t need your judgment.”

“This isn’t me judging you it’s me telling you it’s not gonna happen.”  
Will snaps back, a little defensively.

“Why not?”

Ben presses, spreading his arms wide, and it’s like he’s daring Will to answer, testing the waters. Will knows that, and he falls for it anyways, because Ben’s his brother and because he’s pissed off and because he’s scared.

“Because you’re a fucking weapon, and I’m not putting you in the ring with a bunch of hillbillies to fight for money, alright.”

He says with finality, ending this before it can go any further. But Ben keeps pushing, because he’s Ben and he always keeps pushing and he loves him for it and he hates him for it too.

“Hey, just cause you can’t keep your shit together doesn’t mean the rest of us can’t either. Stop projecting your bullshit onto to me.”

Ben spits. Will considers himself a pretty calm and collected type. It had always been an asset in the field, not to lose your shit when everything is going to shit, but there’s some things that push his buttons just right and his brother’s always known which ones to push. Just like that logic and reason and sympathy go right out the window and Will’s just looking to hit where it hurts.

“I don’t need to project anything on you, you got your own steaming pile of shit.” Ben scoffs and rolls his eyes, and Will ignores him, “Hey, I know I got baggage but at least I’m not drinking my way to the bottom of a bottle and letting drunk hicks use me as a punching bag. That’s a special brand of fucked up, brother.”

Ben stands up so fast the chair clatters back,

“Shut the hell up.”

He snarls, hands clenched by his sides. Will doesn’t though, because they’re here now and it’s so hard to stop when you’re falling. Instead he barrels on with a sort of horrified glee.

“Oh yeah, I bet dad would be real proud if he could see you now. Guess you two have more in common then I thought.”

There’s a single charged second where Will thinks that Ben might actually hit him. The moment passes though and instead Ben spins around and stalks out of the kitchen. Will hears the front door slam shut a minute later.

“Fuck.” He says, to no one in particular, and then when that doesn’t feel like enough he tries again louder, slamming his hands down against the countertops “FUCK.”

The words hang in the empty air. The dishes stare at mockingly at him from the sink.

Things settle down after the fight, but never quite completely. There’s a lingering tension in the air, something still humming between them like a wall. He doesn’t like it. Ben spends even less time at home; he’s out almost every night and doesn’t come back till late. Sometimes Will doesn’t even see him when he leaves for work in the morning. When they are in the same room they don’t really talk. They’ve fought before, of course they’ve fought, they’re brothers. This feels different though, feels like something deeper. He wants to fix it, but he’s not sure how.

Things finally come to a breaking point, because if there’s one thing Will’s learned is that there’s always a breaking point. There’s only so much something can bear. They tend not to be pretty, this one’s no exception.

It’s a Saturday, and Ben’s not in the apartment when Will gets home which doesn’t surprise him. Still, he has a weird feeling. The type of feeling he used to get back when some serious shit was about to go down, the type of shit that ended up with people in body bags. He shrugs it off though, because that’s not his life anymore, and he can’t be constantly looking over his shoulder just because he has a feeling. He microwaves leftover pasta and watches some dumb action flick on TV and tries not to think about it. A few hours later and it’s obvious Ben’s not going to be coming back tonight. He shoots him a text, asking him where he is, and then hits the sack.

The sound of his phone ringing wakes him up. It’s still dark outside and a quick glance at his alarm tells him it’s barely past four. He checks the number on the caller ID as he answers, but doesn’t recognize it.

“Hello?”

He asks sharply. A harried sounding female voice replies.

“Hi, is this William Miller?”

He clears his throat, sitting all the way up now. There’s an icy feeling growing somewhere in the pit of his stomach.

“Yeah, who is this?”

“I’m calling from Lakeland General Hospital. You’re listed as the emergency contact for Benjamin Miller,” and then Will’s stomach drops to his toes, fingers tightening around the shitty plastic of the cellphone till it creaks. “He was brought in about an hour ago with a knife wound.”


	2. Chapter 2

The nurse won’t tell him anything more then that Ben’s alive over the phone, patient confidentiality. He’s alive leaves a lot to be desired, though, because he’s alive can mean a lot of different things. He barely remembers the drive to the hospital; just that he doesn’t think he’s ever gone faster in his life and he’s damn lucky he didn’t get pulled over. The nurse at the front desk of the hospital directs him down to the emergency room, which Will takes as a good sign. People who are dying get rushed to the OR, they don’t get left in the ER.

When he makes it to the ER a different nurse directs him to a bed with the curtains drawn around it, cause there’s sure as hell no way their military insurance covers a private room. He pulls them open with a snap and finds his brother sitting on the hospital bed, shirt off and hand pressed against a patch of gauze on his left shoulder, just where the arm meets his chest. He looks up at the sudden movement and winces when he sees Will. There are about a thousand questions running through his head, chief among them being _what the hell_ , but those he saves for later because right now he just needs to know his brother’s okay.

“It’s just a scratch.”

Benny mumbles, unconvincingly, with a look somewhere between sheepish and guilty in his eyes. Will ignores him

“Let me see.”

He says, gruff and demanding and too tired and stressed to pretend to be anything else.

“Fuck, Will, I said it’s nothi-“

Will doesn’t let him finish, just strides forward and pushes away Ben’s hand, peeling off the gauze pad. There’s an ugly dark line of stitches holding torn flesh together, in the meat of Ben’s shoulder. It’s only an about an inch and a half long, maybe two, but certainly not a scratch. Not the worst it could have been, but not the best either.

“How many stitches.”

Ben sighs, mutters,

“Eight.”

“ _Jesus_ , Ben. What the fuck.”

He bites out, taking a step back and resisting the urge to pace. Ben shrugs slowly, pressing the gauze back on, Will notices now the speckles of red on the bandage and swallows. It’s not that Ben’s never been hurt before, hell he’s been hurt worse, but that shit’s not supposed to happen here. Here is supposed to be safe. He’s not supposed to be getting calls about his brother in the hospital with a fucking stab wound at four in the morning.

“Look, I was drunk, got sloppy, didn’t notice the guy had pulled a knife. I’m fine.”

Ben says, pulling his shirt on carefully and looking away towards the off white hospital wall behind him. There’s a tear in his tee, and blood soaked into the fabric around it, and it makes Will’s fists clench. He’s pissed off and freaked out and the two are bleeding into each other in all the wrong ways.

“And what about next time, huh? You keep going like this man and they’re gonna be pulling your body out of a gutter sooner or later, and let me tell you, if you think I’m going to sit around and wait for that call you’re dead wrong.”

Ben finally looks at him, and for the first time Will sees a flash of hurt in his eyes, and the bitter taste of regret rises in his throat. Before he can say anything though the curtains slide open again, and a man in scrubs walks in holding a clipboard.

“Alright, I have your discharge papers here, just need a signature and we’re good to go.”

He declares with a slight smile, passing the clipboard and a pen over to Ben who signs it gingerly.

“Your brother was lucky,” He says, as he takes the release forms back. “The knife managed to miss every major nerve in the shoulder and the rotator cuff. A week or two of rest and he should be just fine.”

The doctor let’s them go with a prescription for antibiotics and instructions to come back in a week to get the stitches removed.

“Call right away if there’s any sign of infection.”

He warns, as if they don’t already know all this like the back of their hand. Still, Will smiles tightly and makes a point to thank him as they leave.

The drive home is quiet and tense. It’s starting to get light out, the sun just peaking over the horizon, but it’s early enough that the streets are mostly empty. Beside him Ben sits in the passenger seat, silent and still and pale in the weak predawn light, staring out the window at nothing. Will takes a deep breath.

“Hey man, what I said, back at the hospital, I didn’t mean it like that.”

Ben doesn’t move, doesn’t look at him, and his voice is flat when he replies.

“It’s fine.”

Which is about as far from the truth as saying Afghanistan’s a fun vacation in the sun. _This_ , whatever it is, is not fine. They’re not fine, either of them. The army gives you a 90-day transition program and a therapy session and pretends that it’s enough. The truth is though that it’s bullshit. The truth is they send you out there to kill, and watch your friends be killed, and spend every fucking day afraid the back of your skull’s about to get blown out and then they send you home with a pat on the back and some inspirational cat posters. And it’s not enough, it’s never enough. Tom can’t keep his family together, and he tried to kill a guy in a supermarket, and Ben’s out here every night letting people use him like a punching bag and none of them are alright. And he doesn’t know what to do about it.

“I just-”

He starts, then stops abruptly, unsure of where he’s going. Give him a M4A1 and people to kill and he’s got you, but he’s never sure how to do all this talking shit.

“You’re better then this, Ben.”

He finally settles on. It seems like the wrong thing to say as soon as the words leave his mouth. Ben snorts.

“Yeah? Better then what.”

And it sounds like a challenge, it sounds bitter. Will fumbles for the words.

“Better then getting the shit kicked out of you. Better then drinking yourself into a pit. We were fucking warriors, man, this isn’t right.”

Will says and finds he really means it. Ben finally turns to him. His blue eyes are shadowed, and there’s something desperate there, something weary.

“Maybe for you, but…I-I don’t think I got it in me.” He shakes his head, “You wouldn’t get it…”

“So talk to me, make me get it.”

Ben shakes his head, hair shaggy now that he’s been growing it out from it’s military buzz for a couple of weeks.

“I don’t know, it’s just, ever since I got back, I feel like I got this fire in me, y’know. And I just gotta do _something_ , or I’m gonna burn up from the inside out.”

And his voice is so ragged and raw and exhausted. He sounds like a man at the end of his rope, he sounds like someone with nothing left to lose, and that scares Will. And that’s the thing about his brother, Benny does everything hard and fast and like it’s the last thing he’ll ever do. Fighting, fucking, feeling, it’s all the same to him. It’s what made him so good in the army, it’s what’s tearing him to shreds now that he’s home. It’s like he’s got all this pent-up shit inside of him and nowhere for it to go.

“Alright.” Will says, “Let me call my guy.”

Because Ben’s survived three tours of Afghanistan and half a dozen special ops missions and he’ll be damned if he loses his brother to some asshole with a knife once he’s home. If that means putting him in the ring, then so be it.

The next couple of days are tough. He calls Alvin, and he’s more then willing to set up a fight for Ben once he hears he’s Will’s brother.

“I got a good feeling about your family,” he says over the phone, and Will can nearly hear the grin in his voice. “If he’s anything like you then that boy’ll be a winner.”

Ben can’t fight until he’s healed up though, at least two weeks. He can nearly see the nervous energy radiating off of him while they wait, but his shoulder stops him from doing much. He starts to run a lot. It’s a little painful being cooped up with him, and Will’s almost relieved when the doc clears Ben for light activity. Will starts him on some sparring with a few of the other guys at the gym, just to get him back into the swing of things. Watching him go at it Will is reminded of just how fucking good his little brother is, one in a million maybe. Even with his shoulder still healing he breezes through some of the best fighters they’ve got.

The first fight rolls up before they know it. Ben doesn’t seem nervous as he preps, just chomping at the bit to get out there. The locker room smells like stale sweat and talcum, and Ben stretches on the fake tile floor with icy cool eyes. Will knows his brother better then that though.

“It’s gonna be a cakewalk,” He says, as he helps Ben get his gloves on. “Just get out there, take it nice and slow, and put the motherfucker on the ground. You're strong in grapples, if you get him to the mat it's a straight shot from there.”

Outside there’s the dull roar of the crowd, amped up on cheap beer and the taste of blood. Ben grins up at him, vicious and more alive then Will thinks he’s seen him since he got home.

“Don’t worry brother, I got this.”

And Will thinks that’s what makes him nervous. Because yes, they’re weapons and yes they were trained for violence and yes they’ve all killed before, but this is home. This is different. This is supposed to be them getting _out_ , getting away from all that shit. And somehow they’ve found themselves right back where they started, only this time there’s no flag on his brother’s shoulder. Still, it’s better this then the alternative he reminds himself as they walk down the hallway and out into the sticky crowded heat of the auditorium. Better then another four AM phone call. Next time it might be the morgue he’s visiting instead of the ER and Will has lived through a lot of shit but he doesn’t think he could live through that.

There’s a surge of noise as they walk into the auditorium, crowd eager for fresh blood and new faces. Ben keeps his shoulders straight and his eyes forward as they walk towards the ring, Will a beat behind him.

“Alright, this is it. Keep your head on straight and go get ‘em.”

He says when they reach ringside, giving the side of Benny’s face a slap. Benny nods, and steps through the gate. Will closes it behind him with a finality that weighs more then it should, then takes stands back and crosses his arms and waits.

Alvarez fights dirty, which isn’t necessarily a surprise. As soon as he and Ben touch gloves he pulls back and pops Ben in the nose. It doesn’t get better from there. Ben’s still favoring his right shoulder a bit which Alvarez takes brutal advantage of. Will can see that Ben’s holding himself back, and taking a beating for it. If this was anywhere else but here, Alvarez'd be dead bum shoulder be damned, but they are here and here there are rules and they have to play by them. And he think's that's the whole damn problem, they come home and suddenly none of the rules make sense anymore. Like someone switched out all the pieces while they weren't looking and now they're all left trying to figure out what changed, the game or them. Most days he thinks it's the latter.

In the end though, rules or not, Benny wins. By the skin of his teeth maybe, but he still wins. And sometimes that’s all that matters. Sometimes you get the shit knocked out of you, but if you’re still standing at the end of it it’s enough.

The prize money’s a hundred bucks, but Benny barely seems to care. His nose is dripping blood down his lips and one eye is swelling purple but he’s glowing like a hundred watts.

“Shit Will, did you see me at the end there? I really thought he had me, but I just managed to get his legs out and then-”

Ben draws a thumb across his neck, grinning with red on his teeth. Will smiles and thinks about how he’s gotten more used to seeing his brother’s face with bruises on it then not. 


	3. Chapter Three

Fights get easier after that. Benny’s shoulder heals up, and he starts to hit his rhythm again. Now most of the time he wins without coming out of the cage with a face that looks like mince meat. And as much as Will hates to admit it he’s doing better outside the ring too. He doesn’t drink as much anymore, doesn’t get into bar fights. He’s home almost every night.

The thing with Ben is he needs something too give him purpose, to give him drive. Without it he just starts to tear apart at the seams. The military had given him that, the first time round, the structure and the motivation. Looks like fighting’s going to be what saves him now. And Will knows, deep down inside that working some nine to five office job would have killed his brother just as surely as a bullet to the brain. But just because he knows that doesn’t mean he has to like it. It’s what Ben wants, though, and Will’s never been able to tell him no, not when it counted. He’ll live to regret that, he thinks.

After a few months Ben’s been able to make a name for himself in the circuit, working his way up the ranks. He’s got a big fight coming up at the end of July, with one of the local heavyweights, Volkov. There’s some good money on it, and people are excited. Benny though, Benny’s ice cool.

“Volkov’s an aggressive fighter.” Will says, placidly watching Ben go to town on a punching bag. It’s late, and other then the two of the them gym is empty. “He’s at the upper end of the weight class, likes to use that against people. He’s gonna try to get you up against the ropes and pin you, don’t let him get you there or it’s over.”

Ben doesn’t take his eyes off the bag, doesn’t break his rhythm. Just keeps pounding away.

“I know.”

“I’m serious, Ben, he’s not like these other chumps you’ve gone up against, alright. They’re small fry compared to him, he’s the real fucking deal.”

Ben’s fists beat out a steady rhythm that echoes across the quiet gym, thud thud thud. It sounds like a heartbeat, or marching feet.

“I know,”

Ben says again, a little irritated now. Will sighs, runs a hand down his beard.

“Just…be careful alright. This dude doesn’t pull punches; he’s put more then a few guys in the hospital. Ended a couple of careers. Don’t get cocky just ‘cause you’ve had a good streak.”

Ben finishes with a final hit that sends the bag swinging on its chain and turns to Will, face splitting into a shit eating grin.

“Aw come on brother, you know me, I’m always careful.”

Will lets out a snort, rolling his eyes.

“I wish asshole,” he says as he pushes off the wall and heads towards the locker room. “You’re gonna give me grey hairs before I’m fifty at this rate.”

Ben just laughs, slinging an arm around Will’s shoulder, body warm even through Will’s sweatshirt.

“Yeah, yeah, bitch all you like old man, you know love it.”

The fight rolls around and Will doesn’t know why but he’s got another one of his feelings. He’s had it for a while now, ever since that night in the gym with Ben. It sits in his stomach heavy like a rock as Ben warms up, as he pulls on his tee shirt and they head to the cage. Ben’s got a bit of a following now, and the crowd roars as he walks out, a couple of people calling out his name. Will raises his arms to amp them but it’s half-hearted, his mind elsewhere.

“Hey, you with me?”

Ben asks, glancing back with eyebrows creased. It’s hard to hear him over the sound of people yelling and talking, over the _thud thud thud_ of Will’s heart in his ears. He shakes himself.

“Yeah,” he says, “Yeah I’m with you Benny.”

“Good,” Benny replies, “Then get ready to watch me win. Easy money baby.”

Turns out the money’s not so easy after all. Ben takes the first round, but Volkov comes back swinging on the next leaving them tied. By the third they’re both exhausted and walking wounded. Volkov landed a pretty nasty overhand but Ben gave his good as he got and the other man’s bleeding copiously from the nose. They’re both sweating, Will can see it gleaming on them from the edge of the ring, fat drops rolling down their faces. It’s a war of attrition at this point, who’s going to get sloppy first, who can take the most hits and stay standing. Ben’s getting tired though, Will can see it in the way his jabs are starting to lag, the margins he’s dodging by getting narrower and narrower. He’s tough but he took a lot of heavy hits in the last round, and the toll’s weighing on him. Volkov’s slowing too, favoring his left ankle a little. It could go either way. The audience seems to sense the tension, the room mostly quiet like they’re just waiting for the next move.

Ben falters, just for a second, slipped on blood on the mat maybe, but Volkov see’s the opportunity. While Ben’s still finding his footing he slips past and lands a clean shot across the side of Ben’s head like a sledgehammer. Ben drops and doesn’t get up. The crowd rumbles in disappointment, the ref starts counting.

_One._

Ben isn’t moving, his face turned away from Will so all he can see is shaggy blonde hair.

_Two._

Still nothing, not a twitch, and Will feels his gut clench.

_Three._

Behind his brother Volkov’s grinning, like he’s already won. It pisses Will off, fuck him for thinking his brother’d go down easy, fuck him for thinking Ben would just quit like that.

_Four._

“Come on, Ben, get the fuck up.”

He roars, fingers tightening around the chainlink of the cage, heart pounding in his chest.

_Five._

“Get your ass off the ground, you really wanna lose like this?”

Ben shifts. Just a little, one arm pulling towards his body, just enough, and Will latches on to it.

_Six._

“I know you’re better then this, huh? Or are you a punk-ass who quits as soon as the going gets tough. Come on Ben, get _up_.”

_Seven._

Ben gets himself slowly to his knees, fists braced on the ground. Will can see now that he’s bleeding from somewhere, red staining the side of his face and dripping down his chest.

“That’s it, come on, just a little more, just a little more and then you’ve got it.”

_Eight._

With a final heaving push Ben get’s his feet under him, swaying for a second before he seems to find his bearings. He shakes his head, sweat and blood flying from his face, and then his hands are up and his eyes are clear. The ref stops his count and Will takes a step away from the cage with a long exhale. Ben’s up, but he could still lose. There’s two minutes left on the clock, and there’s no way he’ll win on points after that. Volkov for his part looks mildly surprised, which Will takes a grim satisfaction in. He’ll learn the hard way Miller’s don’t stay down for long.

Ben’s pulled a second wind from somewhere, pressing the advantage that Volkov’s surprise gives him. Volkov gives ground, faltering under the unexpected aggression, letting Ben push him around the cage. They’re both bleeding now, red smeared down their chests, on their gloves, across the matting of the ring. Ben has Volkov up against the ropes, swinging at his head. Volkov has his hands up and face down, not returning hits anymore, just weathering them.

Finally Volkov tries to make a move, ducking under Ben’s arm’s and trying to get him in a clinch, but Ben breaks it easily, sweeping his leg around behind Volkov’s knee and sending them both to the mat. Once they’re down he just starts pounding. Will watches Ben’s fist fly and thinks about that night in the gym, the relentless beat against the punching bag. _thud_. _thud_. _thud_. At first Volkov resists, and then he doesn’t. Ben sits back, panting, bloody, and waits for the ref to count him out. Volkov doesn’t get up. Will feels something then, swelling irrepressibly in his chest, but he’s not sure what. He wonders how much has been sacrificed to get to this moment, wonders if it was all worth it.

He’s not sure what it is till later, when it’s just the two of them in the locker room. Ben’s sitting on the bench, still filthy with blood and sweat, obviously exhausted but grinning. It comes easy then.

“Hey,” Will says, crouching and catching Ben’s face in his hands. “You did really good out there tonight, I’m proud of you.”

And something in Ben lights up at the words, something in his eyes that makes him look almost like a kid. It hurts a little, in a way that Will doesn’t expect. He clears his throat, giving Ben’s cheek a gentle slap before standing up.

“Alright, let’s get you cleaned up.”

Ben nods. As he pushes himself off the bench though his eyebrows crinkle in confusion and he glances around the room.

“Hey, do you smell burning rub-”

He never finishes his sentence. Halfway through his eyes roll back into his skull and he drops like a stone, shoulder ricocheting off the edge of the bench as he falls.

“Fuck, Ben!”

His brother’s name tears itself from his throat like a bullet and then he’s on his knees beside him. His body is stiff, every vein on his neck taut and distended and arms and legs shaking wildly. A seizure, he thinks dimly, his brother’s having a goddamn seizure. He yanks down the zip on his hoody so hard he nearly breaks the zipper, shrugging it off with clumsy arms.

“Hey, we need some help in here!”

He yells, balling up his jacket and tucking it under Ben’s head, trying to avoid flailing limbs in the process. Reaching over his body he gets an arm behind his shoulder and pulls Ben towards him till he’s on his side, keeping one hand cupped behind his head so he doesn’t hit it on the bench. He glances towards the door but nobody’s come yet.

“We need some fucking help!”

His voice echoes in his ears and it doesn’t sound like his. He wonders if this is real, or if it’s just some sort of messed up dream he’s going to wake up from in a second. He wishes he would. He feels sick; he can hear his heart again, pounding in his ears like a death march. Ben just keeps convulsing, shaking himself apart under Will’s hands. He tries to remember how long it’s been, 30 seconds? A minute? How long before it’s bad? Fuck, he should have paid more attention.

“What’s going on?”

Somebody says behind him, he whips his head back to see a man poking his head in the doorway.

“Call 911 right now, tell them someone’s having a grand mal seizure after a head injury.”

“Oh shit, is he okay?”

“Just call a goddamn ambulance!”

He snaps, fear and anger warring in his voice. As soon as the guy pulls out his cell he turns his attention back to his brother. It’s been at least a minute now, it feels like a fucking eternity. Ben’s mouth hangs open and he’s drooling a little. Will reaches down to wipe it away, feeling more helpless then he has for a long time. It’s a bitter taste. Vaguely he registers the man behind him saying that an ambulance should be here in a few minutes, he thinks he replies but he’s not sure. The world narrows down to his hands and his brother and the dirty locker room floor they’re sitting on. His back aches and he can feel his knees bruising but none of it matters.

“Hey man, you need any help.”

  
The guy asks again. Will shakes his head, tells him to go outside and flag down the ambulance once it shows up. He knows Ben would hate people seeing him like this, weak and vulnerable. His pain isn’t a spectacle or a show, it’s private. It’s for them alone.

Finally after about three minutes the seizure ends as quick as it started, Ben’s body going limp all at once.

“Woah woah woah,” he says, catching Ben’s head in his hand and lowering it carefully to the floor. “I got you, I got you.”

Ben blinks blearily up at him, the glassy haze receding.

“Will,”

He rasps.

“I’m right here, medics are almost here, just stay down okay.”

He says, Will doesn’t know if he hears him though. His eyes are slipping shut and Will’s no expert but he’s pretty sure that’s not good.

“Hey, come on Benny, keep your eyes open,”

He pleads, hands hovering over his brother; afraid to shake him to hard, afraid to let him fall asleep. Ben ignores him, because he always did have a habit of not listening to Will when it was important, when it mattered.

“Come on, god _dammit_ , don’t fucking do this Ben, don’t do this.”

And there’s real fear curling in his gut now, heavy and bitter, because Ben won’t wake up and he doesn’t know what to do and this was supposed to be safe, supposed to be home. But Ben’s lying on the cool linoleum floor and no amount of pleading or anger or threats is waking him up.

There’s the sound of boots in the hallway and voices growing louder and then the silence descends into chaos as the paramedics arrive. He lets himself be pushed aside by firm hands, because he’s not an idiot and he know they know how to help his brother better then him.

“How long was the seizure?”

One of them asks, peeling open one of Ben’s eyes and flashing a penlight into it. Will runs a hand down his face and swallows roughly,

“Maybe two minutes at most? He got hit in the head earlier and went down for a few seconds but he seemed fine. He isn’t waking up.”

The EMT shrugs, tucking the penlight away.

“Yeah, TBI’s can take time to manifest. Look, we’re gonna have to wait to get him to the hospital and take some scans before we know how extensive the damage is.”

Will stands back and numbly watches as they roll snap on a neck brace and roll Ben onto a stretcher. They tell him there’s no room for him to ride, but he can meet them at St. John’s. The whole thing lasts maybe five minutes, and then they’re gone leaving Will alone staring at his crumpled hoodie on the floor. For a second he just stands there, feeling a little dazed. Then he picks up his jacket off the floor, and a change of clothes for Will from his locker, and heads to his truck. 


	4. Chapter Four

The receptionist at the front desk of the hospital sends Will to the fourth floor, the neurology department. The nurses there tell him to take a seat and wait, so he does. The plastic chairs are hard and dig into the small of his back, so he stands instead. He thinks about calling Tom, but he’s not sure what he would say. He doesn’t have any information and he doesn’t want to worry him for nothing. Eventually he ends up on the floor, knees drawn up and face resting on his arms.

“Family of Benjamin Miller?”

A mild female voice calls after an indeterminable amount of time, and he scrambles to his feet.

“Yeah, yeah I’m his brother.”

A middle aged woman in a white coat offers him a wan smile and a hand. He shakes it.

“I’m Doctor Anderson, I’m going to be your brother’s neurologist.”

“Is he okay?”

He asks, brushing past politeness and on the edge of being rude but he doesn’t care anymore. She doesn’t seem phased, she’s probably dealt with worse. Her eyes soften before she replies and it makes Will’s stomach twist.

“Why don’t we sit down and have a chat.”

Will doesn’t want to sit down, he wants to know what’s wrong with his brother and he wants to see Ben and he wants to not feel this terrible aching dread in his bones, but he still lets her guide him to one of the uncomfortable plastic chairs anyways. She takes a seat beside him, clasping her hands on her knees.

“Your brother suffered a cerebral edema as the result of a traumatic brain injury. A cerebral edema is when the brain swells and presses against the inside of your skull, causing a build up of intracranial pressure. It was most likely this pressure that triggered his seizure. Currently he’s in a coma,”

The word hits him like a mack truck and for a second Will feels the air leave his lungs. The world goes hazy around him and there’s a hum of static in his ears, like someone hit the wrong channel. She hurries on, like she can reassure him, like she can make this better somehow.

“I know that’s a scary word, but he’s doing pretty well considering. He’s breathing on his own, so for now we’re keeping him off a ventilator.”

Will swallows, and tries to talk past the buzzing in his ears.

“Will he need surgery?”

His voice sounds foreign, like somebody else is talking. His fingers are numb. The doctor shakes her head.

“We’re hoping to avoid that. Right now we have him started on a regime of corticosteroids and anti-diuretics to reduce the swelling. We’re going to keep monitoring him and see how he responds to the drugs before we discuss other options.”

“So that’s good right?”

Anderson sighs.

“Your brother is in good hands. And yes, all things considered he’s doing as well as can be expected, but head injuries are tricky. I hate to say this but you have to prepare yourself for the eventuality that he won’t wake up, and that if he does there’s a chance he’s going to have reduced brain functions.”

When Will was still in the army they liked to talk about compartmentalizing. About how it was important to be able to keep operating under stress, to be able take everything and put it into little boxes and stay calm, stay functional. And Will was good at it, was good at taking the horrible shit they saw and all the people he’d killed and stowing it away. He just kept moving. Some of the other guys said it was messed up, sociopathic, Will just saw it as surviving. But now, sitting here in this brittle plastic chair that’s digging into his spine he finds himself utterly failing at it. He tries to lock it down, lock it away, but everything just keeps spilling out again. There’s fear, and there’s anger, and there’s so much guilt; enough to drown him, maybe. It feels like he’s unraveling, like all the things that were true about himself have been yanked out from under his feet and he’s left to clutch at the strands of what he thought he was and what he is now.

“Can I see him?”

He rasps, in that strange alien voice. Anderson looks sad then, in a way that tells him she has been here many times before.

“Yes,” she says, “Of course.”

Ben's in a private room this time, hooked up to more machines then Will can count. He looks very pale and very small under the hospital sheets. He looks very young. Will drags the chair in the corner of the room over to the bed and drops into it like his strings have been cut. Reaching out he takes Ben’s hand, careful to avoid the IV line taped to the back of it, and his skin feels cool against Will’s palm.

“Hey man,” he says, haltingly, “You gotta wake up, okay? Because if you don’t-”

His voice breaks, cracking like glass, and he has to pause for a moment, swallowing hard past a lump in his throat. He breathes in deep, lets it out. In the background there’s the steady beep of the heart monitor.

“If you don’t, I think I’m gonna lose it.”

The heart monitor beeps and Ben breaths and his hand stays cool and still in Will’s.

Will stays till they kick him out and then he only goes home to shower and change his clothes. He throws the sweatshirt he’d been wearing straight in the trash. He’s heading out again when something stops him in his tracks. The remains of their breakfast that morning are still spread out over the kitchen. Ben had insisted on making pancakes and somehow managed to splatter batter over every available surface of the kitchen in the process. His worn army hoodie is still draped over the back of one of the chairs. It looks like he could walk in at any second, like he’s going to come around the corner with a cocky grin and some stupid joke. It nearly takes the legs right out from under him and he finds himself sinking into one of the chairs. Leaning forward he puts his head in his hands and tries to breathe. He doesn’t cry, because he’s a goddamn soldier and soldiers don’t cry, but he feels something shaking lose in him. Like a piece of apple lodged in the back of your throat, or a pebble in your shoe.

So he sits and he shakes and he feels tired and old, old like the hills. Old like dust and dirt and the sand that lodged itself under your fingernails and in the creases of your skin. Sand he never managed to quite shake out of him even after he left the desert behind. And that’s why this is all so fucked up, this is why they’re all so fucked, cause they never quite figured out how to shake all that shit out of them. They just brought it home with them instead, and expected things to be different.

When he’s finished not-crying he gets up and shakes himself off and drives himself to the hospital because he can’t do much but he knows Ben shouldn’t be alone. Visiting hours haven’t started yet when he gets back but after pleading with one of the nurses she takes pity on him and lets him stay as long as he promises to keep quiet and leave if one of the doctors needs the room. So Will promises, and he settles into an under stuffed chair that’s a size and a half to small for him, and he get’s ready to wait. Wait for Ben to wake up or wait for him to not because either way he’s gonna be there.

For four days there’s no change. For four days Will sits at Ben’s bedside and waits. He talks to him sometimes, because he read somewhere once that coma patients can sometimes still hear people talking to them. Tells him stupid bullshit stories he’s told a hundred times before, or things he’s never said out loud before. And every day that passes the looks on Dr. Anderson’s face when she comes in to do her check-up’s get grimmer and grimmer. The conversations they have are less and less about rehabilitation options and more and more about long-term hospitalization, about how to prepare himself for the possibility of Ben never waking up. He goes home when the nurses kick him out and comes back as soon as they’ll let him.

He doesn’t call the rest of the guys. He tells himself it’s because he’s not sure of anything yet, that he doesn’t want to drag them away from their lives to sit and watch a comatose man slowly slip away. That’s a lie though, because he knows they’d come. Knows Tom would be here in an instant and Catfish would leave that pretty new girl of his, and Pope would ditch whatever ‘freeing the people’ shit he was doing in Columbia and be on the next flight up if Will said the word. And he thinks they probably deserve to know, after all the shit they’ve been through together, but the real reason he doesn’t tell them is that he thinks it would make this too real. Having them all sitting in this tiny white hospital room would feel too much like a funeral, too much like saying goodbye.

The worst part is that Will knows better then to hope. He’s watched too many guys, too many friends, go down in the field to think that this will be any different; the universe doesn’t give a fuck that Ben’s his brother. The worst part is that Will already knows how this will end, with a coffin and a funeral and the rest of his life stretching out in front of him bleak and lonely and endless. And he thinks that if Ben dies, the parts of him that matter will die too.

So for four days Will sits and he waits and god help him he prays and for four days nothing changes. On the fifth day Ben’s finger moves.

The first time it happens Will’s half-asleep, and he thinks he might have imagined. It’s so tiny, just the barest twitch and he’s sure the exhaustion and desperation showing him things that aren’t really there. The second time it happens he’s wide awake and hitting the call button on the wall so hard the plastic casing creaks. A nurse comes in who leaves to find the neurology resident who leaves to find Doctor Anderson. She gives him a skeptical look as she walks in, pursing her lips.

“Will,” she says, sounding tired, “I thought we talked about this.”

“Look, I know what you’re thinking, but I swear I saw him move. I know I did.”

She sighs, and it’s not a hopeful sound. Will knows what he saw though, and for the first time since that locker room floor he lets himself hope. So he waits in the hall while Anderson runs a few tests and he paces and he barely dares to breath. When she comes out she looks more optimistic then she has all week.

“Your brother has some increased brain activity and his pupil reactivity is better. I don’t want us to get ahead of ourselves here, but that is good news. We’ll monitor him closely over the next week and see if he starts to come out of it.”

She says, and Will feels something in his chest start to come undone. He knows she’s trying to be gentle, trying to prepare him for the worst case and he appreciates it. But she doesn’t know Ben like he does, doesn’t know that if there’s even the barest chance to survive Ben will fight for it, he’ll claw his way out of the fucking pit if he has too. And over the next few days he does.

It’s slow. It’s mostly fingers twitching and legs shifting and little things that don’t seem like they should mean anything at all and suddenly feel like a victory. Once Ben scares the crap out of him when he looks over and he’s staring straight up the ceiling eyes wide open but still as a board.

So it’s slow, and every time he fidgets or paces Anderson gives him a look and reminds him to be patient. And he’s trying, he really is, but he just wants his brother back. The first time he looks over at Will and Will actually sees Ben in that gaze is a week later. It’s nothing much, really, Ben just blinks slowly at him a few times and then goes back to sleep, but it’s his brother in those eyes. He think’s it’s the first time since this whole shitshow started, maybe even the first time since Ben got home, that he really think’s Ben’ll be alright. And Will hasn’t cried once, not when Ben went down in that locker room and seized on the dirty floor, not in the hospital or at his bedside or alone in their apartment, but he cries then.


	5. Chapter Five

It takes a few more days for Ben to wake up all the way. Once he does Will waits in the hallway with bated breath while Anderson runs a hundred and one different tests to make sure his brother’s all still there, that no parts of him got lost while he was sleeping. After what feels like hours she steps out of his room, closing the door gently behind her with a muted click. 

“Well, your brother is one lucky guy.” She says, with a weary smile. “No permanent brain damage whatsoever. We’ll need to keep him a few more days under observation just to be sure but he should be ready for discharge by the end of the week.” 

Will swallows hard past the lump in his throat and shakes her hand when she offers it.

“Thank you,” he says roughly, “Really.”

She just nods, pushing a stray strand of hair behind her ear.

“He’s sleeping now, think I tired him out a bit, but you’re welcome to go sit with him.”

Ben still sleeps a lot, which Will thinks is funny considering how much he’s been doing that the past couple days, and when he is awake he’s irritable and confused. He weathers it with all the patience a youth spent looking after a hot-headed teenager and then half a decade in the army has beaten into him. Mostly Will just wants to go home, wants to never spend another night in a too cramped chair in a sterile hospital room. Mostly Will just wants Ben to be home, like if he just gets Ben back it’ll fix all of this, like they’ll slide back into the spots they’ve worn into their lives here like nothing happened. He should have known that was too good to be true. 

The end of the week rolls around, final tests have been run and discharge papers have been signed. Will leans against the wall by the door, arms folded across his chest as he waits for Ben to change into his street clothes. 

“Excited to be going home?”

He asks, watching Ben pull his shirt down over his head. He can still pick out the faint white line of the scar on his shoulder from all those months ago. Ben throws his head back with a dramatic groan. 

“Christ, you have no idea Will. Didn’t think food got worse then MRE’s but I think this goddamn hospital has ‘em beat.” 

Will snorts, shaking his head. 

“Yeah yeah, you know this ‘goddamn hospital’ probably saved your ungrateful ass right? Plus you weren’t the one eating that shit for nearly two damn weeks straight, waiting for you to wake up from your little nap.”

Ben pauses then, looking down at the floor, and the room is quiet for a long moment. 

“Thank you…” He says finally, so quiet that Will almost can’t hear it. “Thanks for sticking with me.” 

And suddenly there’s a swell of emotion in Will’s chest, everything he’s kept bottled up since the Volkov fight, since Ben stepped off that plane, since that moment in the supermarket with Amy and her fists against his back, and it’s so intense that for a moment it takes his breath away. He swallows hard, and when he speaks they both pretend to ignore the rasp in his voice. 

“Hey,” he says, thick and slow, “Wasn’t even a question. I’m your brother.” 

Ben smiles at the floor, scrunching up his nose and reaching up to wipe a rough hand across his face. 

“Yeah, guess we’re stuck with each other huh.” 

He says with a grin. Will rolls his eyes in exasperation, but feels like some tension between them has finally lifted, like a bubble bursting. Pushing off the wall he gestures to his brother. 

“Come on, lets get out of here.” 

The first night home goes easy. They order Chinese and eat on the couch and watch a basketball game on TV for a bit, before Ben taps out to head to bed early. His eyes are still sensitive and watching a screen for too long gives him a headache. Will thinks that maybe they’re going to get through this okay, maybe Ben’s impossible luck will carry them out unscathed. It puts him in a good mood to think about that, so the next morning he gets up early and makes breakfast. 

“So,” Ben says between shoveling scrambled eggs in his mouth as Will does the dishes, “When do you think we can start training by?”

Will pauses where he’s scrubbing the egg pan, soapy sponge tight in his fist and water running down his wrists. 

“What do you mean start training again?”

“I don’t want stay out of the game too long, lose momentum from the past coupla fights. I’m finally starting to carve out a corner here y’know.” 

Ben continues on like he hadn’t even heard Will, words slurred by the food in his mouth. Will feels cold, even as the water from the tap starts to burn uncomfortably at his skin.

“And I gotta buncha texts from people about the Volkov fight-”

“I thought you were done with that shit.”

Will cuts in, stopping Ben’s river of words like a dam. Ben looks over at him, confused and a little wary. 

“What are you talking about, done with that shit? It’s my job, Will.” 

Will finally sets down the half scrubbed plate and closes off the tap, turning around to face his brother with something that feels like panic building in his chest.

“What am I talking about? I’m talking about the fact that you were in a coma for eight days, Ben. You just got released from the hospital. Jesus how can you even be thinking about going back?”

“What else am I supposed to do? It’s not exactly like I got a whole lot of marketable skills. I’m good at it, you know I’m good at it and now we got all these hospital bills and shit, no way we’re gonna pay them off with your salary.”

Will runs a hand through his hair, shaking his head. 

“So we get you some job training, man. There’s programs the VA office offers, I got a buddy who runs an agency for guys like us. We’ll figure something out okay.” 

Ben snorts, pushing his chair back and throwing his fork down and this feels too familiar, too much like a play with the lines already written and an ending Will can already see. 

“Oh come on, can you really see me at a fucking temp agency Will? Really? And we both know those VA programs are bullshit. I already got a job, I don’t need a new fucking one that I won’t even be good at.”

“You almost died Ben. Do you not understand that? You almost fucking died. I almost had to fucking bury you.”

His voice breaks then, and he turns away biting down on his tongue hard enough to draw blood because it came so close to being the reality, and it feels too raw and recent to say it out loud like that. There’s a long pause, and the sound of a chair scraping against wood and the soft thud of Ben’s footsteps and then there’s a hand on his shoulder. He turns to face his brother. 

“I coulda come back in a coffin from any one of the missions we ran while we were enlisted.” Ben asks, “Why’s it any different now? Same odds, Will. Better maybe.”

“Because this is different. We’re not at war here, this is supposed to be safe.” 

And even as he says the words he knows they’re not true. The way that Ben looks at him, too soft for his live-wire face, tells him he knows it too. 

“Will,” Ben says, almost gently, like he’s trying to break bad news to him. “It’s not different. It’s never gonna be different.” 

And Will thinks that somewhere deep inside himself, he always knew that was true. There’s just some things you can’t change, no matter how much you want too. 

“Look, I’m going to start fighting again, and I’d rather do it with you. But I’ll do it without you too, it’s your choice which it’s gonna be.”

Will nods, and takes a deep breath. 

“I’m going to go for a run.”

He says finally, turning away from his brother, knowing it’s not an answer. He can feel Ben’s eyes on his back all the way to the door. 

Will starts slow, a steady pace he knows he can keep up for hours and heads away from the busy arterial their building is on and back into the residential neighborhood behind it. It’s still early, and the streets are quiet and empty. He’s always though there was something almost meditative about running, the way your body settles into a rhythm and your mind has the space to drift. The steady in and out of your breath in time with your heart. So he runs and while he runs he thinks. Thinks about what exactly he can live with and what he can’t. 

It’s clear there’s nothing he can do or say to get Ben to stop fighting, and he’s accepted that now. If he trains Ben, and Ben dies in a fight he’ll never forgive himself for playing a role in his brother’s death. But if Ben goes out in the ring by himself and dies, he’s going to spend the rest of his life wondering if it would have been different if he were there. He just has to decide which pain will be worse, in the end. Which pain he can bear. In the end, it’s an easy choice, in the end it was never a choice at all. 

When he gets back to the apartment he finds Ben in the living room. He’s watching some dumb game show on the TV, but he hits mute and turns around when he hears the front door close. For a second neither of them says anything, Ben just sits there and watches and waits.

“I’m in.” 

Will says, eventually, when he feels like he can bear the weight of the words. Immediately Ben’s face breaks into a grin and he vaults over the back of the couch, catching Will up in a bear hug.

“Hell yeah brother, I knew you’d come around!”

Ben says, voice muffled against his ear so that Will feels the words more then hears them. His heavy hand is thumping against Will’s back and he thinks of smaller hands and smaller hearts and how everything has changed since then, how nothing has changed since then. He thinks about the way that sand catches in the folds of your clothes, and maybe Ben is right, maybe it’s never going to be different, but until it is Will is willing to wait.


End file.
